


The Eye of Ra

by Winterchild85



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterchild85/pseuds/Winterchild85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What things lie within a cat's eyes? Perhaps even the sun itself. Vanessa Ives feels a threat toward her through Sir Malcolm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You are the Great Cat, the avenger of the gods, and the judge of words, and the president of the sovereign chiefs and the governor of the holy Circle; you are indeed the Great Cat."

Ferdinand Lyle pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up from the hieroglyphic text. He was reading the seventeenth chapter of the Book of the Dead, it concerns Ra taking on the form of the Great Cat named simply Mau, meaning cat in ancient Egyptian. Ra took on this form to kill the serpent Apep.

He continued with the text: "I am the cat (Mau), who fought hard by the Persea tree in Annu on the night when the foes of Neb-er-tcher (a form of Osiris) were destroyed. The male cat is Ra himself.

You are the Great Cat, the avenger of the gods, and the judge of words, and the president of the sovereign chiefs and the governor of the holy Circle; you are indeed the Great Cat."

Lyle was distracted by a soft thump near his feet. He looked down to see a plumb gray mouse lying dead with a very pleased small, sleek, black cat next to it. Lyle smiled as the cat jumped onto his lap. He stroked her soft fur and said, "Why thank you, Baast." Sometimes he swore he loved the dear little beast more than he loved his wife.

_________________________________________________

 

The watery gray-blue light filtered through the curtains of Sembene's room. He winced as he cleaned the welts left by claws across his chest. He knew it was the result of no ordinary dream. In Africa dreams such as this only occurred in conjunction with certain rituals and preparations. What had brought about this magic, ancient, powerful, and dangerous magic.

It was a dream of the type that seemed like waking reality. Sembene was walking through night time streets of London. It was the in the perfectly respectable neighborhood in which Malcolm, his employer's, townhouse stood. He walked along quiet streets of elegant houses and garden walls. Occasionally carriages passed by him.

He sensed a woman following him. Sembene knew how to avoid her — and to begin to track her. He simply wanted to observe who would choose to follow him. She moved lightly, almost silently. He moved to get a better view of who she might be. She was young, lithe, and . . . African.

This was unexpected, to be stalked, much less as to even see an elegantly dressed African woman in London. She was dressed in the height of iEuropean fashion. Sembene knew she was of Africa, even though she was one of those women that Malcolm would describe as looking "almost white". At first he thought she was Somali because of her slender grace and elegant face. The color of her of her skin was not that of a Somali. While he would never think her a white woman, he could understand why Malcolm would say she looked "almost white". Her skin was the color of the desert, a light red, golden brown. Still, she was African. He was sure of it.

The woman walked a caracal on a beautifully worked leash. Sembene had last seen a caracal in Africa. Three times the size of a house cat, the caracal was almost a phantom, a rarely seen small, but powerful hunter. The cat's tawny fur was the same shade as the woman's skin, and it moved with a barely contained energy as it walked along with her. The cat and the woman moved in perfectly synchronous grace. Sembene didn't recall even noticing when she unhooked the cat from its leash. He only noticed the cat as it was hurtling toward him, launching itself for his throat. He barely had time to pull out his knife before the caracal batted the knife out of his hand, and clawing a furrow across his chest.

Sembene sat up fully awake, jolted from his sleep by the shock of the clawing, The dream had seemed real, not the hyper-reality of many dreams, but like the everyday world. He had felt everything just as in waking reality. He touched his wrist and his chest and felt the sting of a wounds and the wetness of blood. The caracal hadn't clawed in deeply, but enough to make him bleed.

_________________________________________________

 

"Night huntress with sharp eye and pointed claw."

She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest on the casement. It was cold and wet here, the sun was rising over the jagged gray profusion of slate rooftops, its savage redness muted by the clouds. This damp, massive city was the center of a great empire. She recalled other times, other empires and kingdoms. Civilizations lost, or partially found, still holding their mysteries.a

The woman had gold-green eyes, and tawny skin, her finger nails were stained red — but not from henna. She sucked blood from under a thumbnail. The African man had deserved his injuries. He had killed one of the children of Baast.

Her companion with whom she shared a chamber, another woman who like she was tawny skinned and lithe, was removing pins from her elegant coif. A great cloud of crinkled black hair, diffused with streams of copper and gold like a sandstone through it, tumbled halfway down her back. She wore a red linen dressing gown and her amber eyes were as unnaturally bright as the noonday sun. In a growling, sensual voice she said, "It will take far more blood than that bit of blood beneath your nails to assuage me."

The other woman merely replied, "You are the Eye of Ra, not I."


	2. Chapter 2

London was muted in a mist of rain, not really enough for a drizzle, but a mist that cast a soft blur over the city. A young woman walked through the streets of an exclusive neighborhood. She drew attention, not simply for her regal bearing, but her unusual beauty. She was a rare beauty in these environs, a true exotic. Her skin was the color of caramel and her cheekbones elegant, her golden eyes were tilted like a cat's. The was something feline about her presence and carriage, infinitely graceful and effortlessly predatory. She stopped in front of an imposing townhouse, regarding each window, as she absently twirled her parapluie, that being a fashionable word for an umbrella. The young woman was nothing if not fashionable, as evidenced by her afternoon ensemble designed by the House of Worth.

Sir Malcolm rose from his desk. He didn't know why he still bothered to pore over maps of Africa. His dream of finding the true source of the Nile was gone. His heart had fractured more at the second loss of darling Mina. Destroyed by his own hand. Malcolm hoped she had gone to a better place, but one didn't really know about these things. He didn't know why he was drawn to that particular sitting room, nor why he felt compelled to look out the window. He pushed back the curtains and locked his sight into the view of a young woman whose gaze was aimed like a rifle at him. Sir Malcolm felt the look almost like a physical blow.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thirty-five years earlier.

Captain Malcolm Murray sweated in the Indian heat under his red tunic. The betting was still furious as to how many pigeons the cat would take down. It had amused him to bet on an even dozen. Was he concerned as to the outcome. He could afford to loose, but he wanted to win. Malcolm always wanted to win.

The cat was brought out, a medium sized wildcat with graceful black tufted ears in contrast to the rest of its golden body. Its face was dramatically marked with accents of black and white almost like the mask of a courtesan.

The caracal charged into the flock of pigeons, in a swirl of feathers and fur, the cat leapt almost ten feet into the air, the elegant, lethally tipped paws slashing through the birds. Twelve pigeons fell to earth.

Malcolm had won the wager.

The cat's green eyes met Malcolm's green eyes in salute, or perhaps, challenge. He wasn't sure. He nodded in return.

A voice behind him said, "Of course the cat is female. Murray almost always does well with women."

Malcolm turned to his fellow officer and smiled. "Murray always does well with women," he replied.

Vanessa lay in bed in that frontier between waking and sleep. She held up a slender arm and regarded her hand; how translucent her fingers looked as the morning light seeped through them. She had dreamt of Malcolm, not the stern, older man with whom she lived, Sir Malcolm.  
She dreamt of Malcolm before he become Sir Malcolm.

She had seen a young army officer in the hypnotic, colorful, and baffling place that was India. His green eyes startling against tanned skin and his red uniform coat. He didn't always wear the uniform — but the bold, hungry green eyes were there to devour everything they could. Maybe it was the explorer in him. He wanted to see, to know, to dominate. Malcolm was a man of empire. He was both ridiculous and dangerous.

In Vanessa's dream she saw Malcolm watching an elaborate dance. His stare intensified and his breath quickened. She doubted he grasped the spirituality of the piece; he seemed to grasp it on a more primal level. In India dance is expression of cosmic life, a means of entering into divine consciousness. Malcolm watched the dance tell the tale of Kali, the Dark Mother.

Kali means black, the first creation before the coming of light itself. She is the Black One, who is beyond time. Her name, Kali, means "time" or "death". Her hair, more black than the starless night, flails about her in wild abandon, her skin is deep blue. She is girdled only in the arms of dead men, adorned with a necklace of skulls, and dead bodies decorate her ears. Besmeared with blood, her red eyes glaring, she begins her killing spree in her battle with evil forces. Uninhibited, Kali destroys everything she can. Lord Shiva, her consort, throws himself under her feet. Her foot is pressed upon his chest. Her red eyes widen shocked at the destruction she's wrought, Kali's tongue protrudes in astonishment.

So the goddess danced in Vanessa's dream, in one of Kali's arms see holds a sword, in another she brandishes a head.

The head was Vanessa's own.


	3. Chapter 3

The languid curl of smoke enveloped Vanessa's face as she exhaled from her cigarette. She delicately knocked away the ash and set the cigarette holder aside. She traced along the curves of the dissipating smoke. Sinuous, hypnotic movement like a dancer in an Indian temple. She had never seen an Indian temple - but the other within her had. Her hidden companion was ineffably old, too ancient, too powerful, much too much for Vanessa to comprehend. The companion may have traveled everywhere and been within . . . how many? An intimate stranger who knew Vanessa to her molecular basis; yet, she only caught dark, distorted glimpses of her companion. When it chose to show itself, it wore a familiar face, Ethan or Malcolm.

Malcolm. The other had chosen the guise of Malcolm to be the vehicle of her initiation. It was the invasion of her flesh and her very soul. He was the gateway to knowledge. She knew him and remained forever pregnant with the presence of this ancient other.

Even when she had been an innocent: well, supposedly, innocent girl, her flesh may have been innocent, but Vanessa felt she had always harbored a darkness, a seed of corruption within her. That child had been teased and delighted by the sight of Malcolm with Claire. her mother. How many nights had little Vanessa lay in her bed before drifting off to sleep, slipping her arms into her nightdress, her fingers tracing the geography her body, imaging Malcolm exploring her body like he explored the typography of Africa. He was the gateway into the realm of the sexual for her, but it was also a subterfuge to hide a twisted, strange path that she would follow. A path more dark and uncertain than the vast dark continent Sir Malcolm Murray tried to traverse.  
Vanessa had dreamt of Malcolm the previous of night. She dreamt of him now more than she did Mina. How she had treasured her dreams of Mina, Vanessa also wished that Peter had appeared in her dreams - but he never did. Her lost, dear friend, Peter. All that gentleness and promise lost to a dream that wasn't even his. Peter never really wanted explore vastness as the heart of Africa. He had no care as to where the Nile originated. It was she, Vanessa, who had the unsatisfied explorer's heart. She was the little girl who wanted to swim the ocean. If the dark companion were not within her, she would be gnawed out by a great hunger to know, to go out and explore.

Vanessa had loved Mina and Peter because they were so unlike her. They were her opposites who completed her.

She had dreamt of Malcolm as she had never known him. In her dream, he was a Cambridge student. She knew that he'd obtained a degree at Magdalen College, but that was years before she was born. Vanessa saw, in her dream, the young Malcolm Murray, perhaps no more than nineteen years old. He was a restless and rangy boy, with a face almost pretty enough for a girl. Still, his face had an air of definite masculinity, perhaps it was the side whiskers. No matter, Malcolm was quite admired by the local girls. They loved his bold green eyes and his mass of dark hair laying in disarray over the top of his collar. The town girls all offered side-long glances, some a bit more . . . a few, quite a bit more.

She loved Malcolm, she hated him. He was a dark reflection of a father. He was nothing like her lost, sweet, unassuming father. Vanessa sometimes forgot what he looked like.

She could feel the other stirring within her. Laughing in her head. Whispering that she should have no fear, the other would remain hidden — for now.

The voice slithered over her brain like snakes, saying she has come. She is here in London. It is she, the Lady of the Place at the Beginning of Time, the One Who Was Before the Gods Were, the Mother of All the Gods.

Sekhmet, the Eye of Ra.


	4. Chapter 4

He found it somewhat relaxing sitting here regarding the people as they came and went through Claridge's lobby. Sir Malcolm felt younger than he had in some time waiting for Mrs. Poole. He'd invited her to luncheon and she was pursuing her feminine prerogative of being fashionably late; perhaps the spirits had detained her. He really shouldn't be so glib on that point. He knew full well the existence and effects of the demimonde. Still, he wanted this meeting between the two of them to be light and pleasant.

Malcolm was distracted by two young ladies as they glided across the lobby enveloped in a soft cloud of perfume and their own chattering. He smiled as he watched them arise in the lift like brightly plumaged caged birds.

If things had gone differently, Vanessa and Mina, might have been as those to young ladies were. He was allowing himself to become maudlin. He had to try harder to prevent that.

"Sir Malcolm," Mrs. Poole's clear voice brought him back from his musing.

He rose and took her proffered hand. "My dear Mrs Poole, you are looking very well and are delightfully punctual."

Seated across from the delectable Mrs. Poole. "Yes, quite delectable," Sir Malcolm thought as he watched her delicately dismember her lobster. She ate with great delicacy and relish, like a cat.

He buttered a roll and asked, "How did you come to choose "Madame Kali" as a professional name?"

"It seemed suitable to imbuing myself with an aura of the mysterious, mystical East. People like that. It adds to the allure; so much more intriguing than plain "Mrs. Poole."

"No, you are not, nor ever could be plain Mrs. Poole. You are most assuredly mysterious and alluring. You would do well as a medium, or indeed, anything you chose, even if you called yourself professionally "Evelyn Poole."

She tilted her head and smiled at Sir Malcolm over the rim of her wineglass.

He returned her smile and continued, "I had reason to confer with Dr. Lyle recently . . .

"Oh, really, a question of Egyptology, you surprise me, Sir Malcolm," she commented too brightly.

"Why should you be surprised of my having wide ranging interests. He seems to be quite put out by you at the moment. He claims that you apparently tried to kill his cat."

"Ah yes, Baast, that detestable little creature. Dr. Lyle told me that when a household cat died in ancient Egypt, not only was it mummified, but the members of the family went into mourning and shaved off their eyebrows. It would be fascinating to see if he decided to mourn that little horror in the same way. He'd probably even try to have her mummified."

What prompted you to want to kill Dr. Lyle's cat? If I may ask."

"I was visiting with him and the reprehensible feline walks in with a still squealing rat, not a mouse, a rat at least half as big as she, only to deposit it practically on my feet. Of course, he says, 'Don't be alarmed. She's honoring you with a gift and the further honor of killing it yourself.' I choose to express my gratitude by grabbing the fireplace poker and attempting to smash it down on that cursed cat. Dr. Lyle was beside himself. Baast and the rat had disappeared into the hall. By this time he's livid, exclaiming that he would thank me not to throttle his cat, and to be so good as to take my leave."

Sir Malcolm chuckled, "Why Mrs. Poole, I must confess that Dr. Lyle has explained to me in detail, even to which room where you were. Now, if you had throttled the cat, or the rat, you would've gotten blood on the Turkey carpet. The one that was a wedding gift from Mrs. Lyle's family, her brother, I believe. The point being his wife would forgiven that."

"It's a shame that never happened," Mrs. Poole smiled. "How delicious it would've been to have killed the cat, the rat, and have distressed Mrs. Lyle. She's barely civil to me. Ah, but that is no concern of yours, Sir Malcolm. I apologize."

"I've already forgotten your breach of etiquette, Mrs. Poole. I've never actually met the elusive Mrs. Lyle."

"Count yourself a lucky man."

"Mrs. Poole, do you always say such provocative things?"

"No, but may I ask you about Miss Ives."

Sir Malcolm raised an eye brow and slowly chewed on his food. "She was a friend of my daughter Mina's and our families were friends."

"She lives in your house, Sir Malcolm. Everybody knows that. It's all quite open, but you've been evasive with me as to your close association with her. It does have the aura of scandal, a beautiful young, unmarried woman living with a widowed, older man."

"It is a large house, Mrs. Poole."

"You might marry her, as she is quite the beauty. Ah, but there is that taint of madness about her. It would be quite difficult to marry her off to anyone else. She may well be an accomplished young lady who plays the piano well and speaks French exquisitely — but that taint of madness.

A shame really, she seems to have everything, beauty, breeding, true she is Catholic, but her family is distantly related to the Howards. There is that matter of madness in her past, and judging from the seance at Dr. Lyle's perhaps something darker as well. Still, well, she is an heiress"

"Mrs, Poole, you seem to know a great deal about Miss Ives. You no doubt also know that I am the trustee of her estate and her guardian. There is nothing untoward in my relationship with her. And may I reiterate, she and I live in a large house."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pompous buffoon, was what Evelyn Poole thought as she settled back into the seat of the hansom cab. Sir Malcolm Murray, what a silly man. So he felt himself to be the protector of Miss Ives. Did the foolish boor even begin to grasp that she was far more adept at looking after herself than he ever could be. There are depths to Miss Ives. Yes, there are depths.

For now she had to deal with Sir Malcolm to begin to affect Miss Ives. In truth, he was such a tiresome man. She well knew the type, very paternal, so very assured. Murray had almost always gotten his way. He was a rich man, a celebrated explorer, tall, still handsome . . . sill virile. Well, she could use that to her advantage — or not. Yes, Sir Malcolm in your finely tailored clothes, smelling faintly of fine whiskey, expensive cigars, and bay rum. Well, thankfully the man didn't wear patchouli. Still Evelyn had reservations about bay rum. Let the fool smell as he chose. She had her objective. She would maneuver around, or through, him. Sir Malcolm, who almost always got his way. Well, my good sir, almost always is not always.

Now as to Miss Ives. There are depths, yes, Miss Ives there are depths.


	5. Chapter 5

In Vanessa's latest dream there were two suns, both harsh and unforgiving, not supporting life, but a a destroyer's light. One sun burned in the sky, the other on the crown of the woman who stalked the streets, clawing and disemboweling any within her reach. She turned toward Vanessa, her black braids fanning around her. The face, her head was that of a lioness. She made a horrible grinding noise, something between a growl and a laugh. Then in her harsh voice said, "You would do well to be afraid unclean vessel. No me now, I am Sekhmet, the One who loves Ma'at and who detests evil."

Vanessa had awakened covered in cold sweat and disoriented, unsure of the day or where she was. It had only be momentary, but she was beginning to fear sleep.

Vanessa spread the marmalade on her toast. The marmalade was blood orange and the color of blood, just as red as the blood that ran in her dreams. Her recent dreams in which London was awash in blood under a livid sky and an unkind sun. She worked at putting the dreams from her mind.

Sembene served breakfast as unobtrusively as a ghost. His French service was impeccable, better than most waiters in fine restaurants, or even footmen in great houses. Vanessa considered the flavor of the marmalade. It tasted of Italy, of hot days and the blue Mediterranean; or more precisely, of her, a northern woman's, dream of Italy. Vanessa loved oranges. She remembered the ones given to her as childhood Christmas gifts. Each little fragrant orb like a miniature sun promising the return of warmth and light.

The sipped her tea. It was a special blend Malcolm always ordered. She knew he ordered it for her, as he had gotten in the habit of drinking coffee in Africa. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of Malcolm's newspaper.

She cleared her throat and to make conservation. "You haven't asked me about my visit to the British Museum. I did mention to you that I've developed a bit of an interest in Egyptology. A very casual one . . . I admit. I thought I might view the exhibits, and perhaps, if he were available ask Dr. Lyle a few questions."

"What questions, Vanessa?"

"Just general questions about Egypt. How they lived and what they believed."

Sir Malcolm sighed, "Does this have something to do with seance? Do you remember anything at all of the seance? Or is it something to do with the vampiric creature covered in hieroglyphs? Are you still troubled by those things. You do look a bit pale and drawn. Have you been sleeping well?"

"It has to with the fact that I find Egyptian art beautiful and that ancient culture fascinating. Their gods are remarkable. I'm struck with wonder at the hybrid gods."

"Hybrid gods? Do you mean those gods who were a mix of animal and human, like Horus or Hathor?"

"Yes, but more particularly like Baast or Tefnut, cat or cat-like deities. Then there was Sekhmet."

"Why do you have an interest in the Egyptian goddess of war?"

Vanessa toyed with her teaspoon. "Because she is a goddess, war deities are generally male. She was called the Eye of Ra and was a corrector of disorder and evil. She loved justice and was terrible, but noble in her way. Her priests were magicians and healers."

"Did Dr. Lyle tell you this?"

"No, he was unavailable. His assistant, a Mr. Khoury saw to me. A fascinating young man. He said he was an Egyptian."

"I know the young man, he is Egyptian. Although very English in manner and education."

"Does he have the education of an English gentleman? Vanessa asked, "Did he attend Cambridge like you?"

"I believe Mr. Khoury attained his degree from Oxford."


	6. Chapter 6

Vanessa remembered walking through the Egyptian galleries with Mr. Khoury. Dr. Lyle had introduced them after saying he had prior engagements and Mr. Anthony Khoury could answer her questions.

He was a very charming young man, very English in speech and manner. He even looked almost English, with brown hair and green eyes. The difference was his skin tone. His skin was a warm golden shade rather than the cool shade of olive skin. He looked very tanned, but Vanessa knew it was a tan that would never fade.

"I wanted to ask about Egyptian goddesses. Well, one in particular, Sekhmet."

Vanessa and he stopped in front of a statue of a lion-headed woman. Mr. Khoury said, "This is Sekhmet, sometimes know as the 'Lady of Terror' but also known as the 'Lady of Life.' She was an Egyptian goddess of war, which may have accounted for her other titles, 'Lady of Pestilence' and the 'Red Lady.' It was also thought that she could send plagues against those who angered her. That noted, the Lady Sekhmet could cure disease and avert plagues. She was also the patron of physicians and healers. Her priests enjoyed the reputation of being skilled doctors."

"It seems that she had quite the dual nature. Although, as war goddess it might be useful to have priests skilled in healing to see to your wounded." Vanessa continued, "Is the 'Eye of Ra' one of her aspects?"

"Yes, it is. How do you come to know of it, Miss Ives?"

"I must've read it in a book. Or perhaps, overhead it in conversation between Dr. Lyle and Sir Malcolm. I really no nothing other than the title."

"The 'Eye of Ra' to the Egyptians functioned as a feminine counterpart to Ra. She was perceived as violent force that subdues the enemies of Ra. The 'Eye' behaves as her own entity even though she works as extension of Ra's power. She is a daughter of Ra, personified by several Egyptian goddesses."

"There were others besides Sekhmet?"

"Yes, most notably Sekhmet and Hathor, but Wadjet, Baast, and Mut, as well. In the mytha, Ra became angry at the 'Cattle of Ra', which is how the Egyptians referred to mankind. He was angry because they weren't following his laws and preserving Ma'at . . ."

"Mr. Khoury, what is Ma'at?

He smiled, "Ma'at is justice. No, it's more than that, it is the balance of things. Mankind was out of balance and needed a correction to bring them to justice. He decided to send an aspect of his daughter, the 'Eye of Ra'. He plucked the 'Eye of Ra' from According to myth, Ra became angry because mankind was not following his laws and preserving Ma'at (justice or balance). He decided to punish mankind by sending an aspect of his daughter, the 'Eye of Ra'. He plucked the 'Eye' from his brow and sent her, in the form of a lion, to earth.

She was Sekhmet and proceeded to rampage across the land, which ran red with human blood.  
There was mass carnage and Ra ordered her to stop — but she could not. She was deep in a blood lust that couldn't be slaked. Ra wasn't cruel and it hurt him to see his 'Cattle' suffer so. He poured 7,000 jugs of beer stained with pomegranate juice in her sight. Sekhmet became so drunk drinking the 'blood' that she slept for three days. Humanity was saved. When Sekhmet finally awoke, free of her blood lust, the first thing she saw was the god, Ptah, sacred to craftsmen and architects, with whom she instantly fell in love. It was a union of creation and destruction and thus re-established Ma'at."

"And thus humanity was saved," Vanessa commented. "Did the divine union of Sekhmet and Ptah produce offspring?"

"Yes, Nerfertem, he protective deity of the perfumers. The three of them, Ptah, Sekhmet, and Nefertem formed the Triad of Memphis. When in the form of a leonine god . . .

"His mother was a lioness," noted Vanessa.

"At least, lion-headed, Miss Ives. In leonine form Nefetem was named as a protector of the two lands. He was also depicted as a beautiful young man wearing a lotus blossom on his head. Rise like Nefertem from the blue water lily, to the nostrils of Ra, and come forth upon the horizon each day. He represented the scent of the blue lotus and the earliest sunlight.

In an earlier inaction of the god, Nefertem was the was born from a blue lotus bud which emerged from the dark primordial waters the beginning of creation. He represented the sunrise. He cried because he was alone and his tears created humanity. It was thought that he was born with every sunrise, then at the end of the day he passed into the world of the dead every sunset, to be reborn again."

"Would I be right in assessing that that is one of several Egyptian creation stories?"

"You would be, Miss Ives, regional gods and their myths were combined. There was also a political component to their religion, as well. The rise of powerful priesthoods and cult centers combined with any particular dynasty resulted in the dominant positions of certain gods. There were also changes such as the combining of Amun and Ra into Amun-Ra. There were others, the lion goddess of Lower Egypt, Baast, became the cat goddess. She could still be quite fierce. It was said that a pharaoh was said to have slaughtered the enemy as Baast slaughtered her victims."

"So, the Egyptians seemed to be admirers of all things feline, including the capricious feline nature."

Mr. Khoury smiled, "Lions were identified with the sun. Ra was a sun god. The Egyptians believed he died in the west everyday, then descend through the underworld, to be born again the next morning in the east. Through the night Ra was in great danger as his enemies, lead by Apophis, the great serpent, were eager to attack him. Lions, and cats, have eyes that reflect in darkness. They would look into the setting sun and keep its rays in their eyes. The lions would go out and kill the serpents in the night. Thus, the universe was saved."

"Noble cats, indeed," Vanessa replied dryly. "May I ask a question about yourself, Mr. Khoury?"

"I have no objection, Miss Ives."

"Your name, Anthony Khoury, indicates that you are, most likely, a Christian. Are you a Copt?"

"I was. I left Egypt when I was seven to attend school in Britain. Since then I have always attended the Church of England. I am, most assuredly, quite English in my habits and outlook."

"Don't you miss your family in Egypt."

"I have no family, only a benefactor."

"That sounds almost romantic, like something from a novel."

"Not quite, dear lady. It is much less romantic when it's actually one's life."


	7. Chapter 7

The decor was opulent, almost elegant, just a trifle gauche, but it was a brothel, after all. Mrs, Teague ran a discrete, clean establishment, even better, she knew what Sir Malcolm liked. She knew he had a taste for a touch of the exotic, women who were almost white - but not quite.

Malcolm watched the young woman intended for him descend the stairs. She was perfect, or more precisely, perfectly to his tastes. The was the air of North Africa about her. She was wonderfully slender, but with a hint of the voluptuous, with an impossibly feline grace. Her face, too, was feline with slightly tilted gold-green eyes. Her dark hair was elaborately looped and held in place by a golden comb decorated with a blue lotus. She wore an astonishingly pleated and draped evening gown of green linen. She glided toward him and said, "Sir Malcolm, Mrs. Teague has a room prepared. Please come with me."

Malcolm took her proffered slim hand. "My dear, what is your name?”

"Mariam, but you may call me what you choose."

"Curious, I knew a Mariam many years ago. She was Egyptian."

"I too, am Egyptian. It is not an uncommon name. Am I like the Mariam of your memory?"

"Similar, but you are delightfully different. And, no doubt, decidedly yourself."

"I can be anything you wish." She tilted her head in a kittenish smile at Sir Malcolm.

Malcolm followed her up the stairs to a private room. Once inside, Mariam smoothed her gloves in a feline gesture before taking them off. She pulled the comb and the lotus from her hair, before holding it to her nose to inhale the scent. She held it out to Malcolm, "The Egyptian blue lotus, the sacred water lily."

Malcolm replied, "I have seen them growing along the banks of the Nile." He pulled Mariam toward him in a kiss, clutching the mass of her hair that tumbled down her back, and crushing the lily between them.

He noticed she smelled of water lilies as she leaned toward loosen his cravat and unbutton his waistcoat.. She teased along his jaw with her kitten teeth, Malcolm watched her, transfixed, as she drifted to a table. Mariam poured two glasses of wine through a strainer from a carafe, in which fragments of a blue lotus drifted. She offered a glass to him.

It was a white wine made bitter by the plant. The taste wasn't unpleasant, just a note of bitterness under the astringency of the wine. He drained the glass. Mariam kissed him, and slipped something from her mouth to his. It was the center of the water lily. Malcolm chewed and swallowed, It tasted almost like an artichoke heart preserved in vinegar. He swept the girl up and lifted her onto the bed.

Malcolm noticed a pleasant warm feeling about his head and neck, there was also the most indescribable feeling of euphoria. He felt light, and happy, and had an unusual sense of awareness. He experienced the girl's delightful and expert use of her teeth and nails. Strange, it was like enjoying being devoured.

He saw the blue lotus and heard Mariam's voice explaining that the flower was like sky. The petals were pale blue at their pointed ends, phasing into light mauve, to the yellow center of the blossom. Like Ra illuminating the daylight sky.

In the golden center Malcolm saw the blond heads of Mina and Peter as the played on the lawn, solemn little dark-haired Vanessa watching them, joining in when she choose. His vision rose up above the grounds of his country house. He was looking down on the garden maze, against an obelisk he and Claire were coupling, he felt he was there with her, in her. He turned his head at a slight rustle to look into the eyes of Vanessa. Except it was Vanessa as she was now, Vanessa the woman. He smiled at her and she returned a cold, reptilian smile that chilled him to his soul.

Mariam stroked his face and she whispered to him in a strange language of which he had no knowledge, but yet, he understood. "There was a mysterious seductress who is a priestess of Baast. She seduced Prince Setna, saying to him: ‘Be joyful, my sweet lord, for I am destined to be your bride. But remember that I am no common woman but the child of Baast the Beautiful, and I cannot endure a rival. Before we are wed, write me a scroll of divorcement against your present wife. And also write that you give your children to me to be slain and thrown down to the cats of Baast, as I cannot endure that they shall live and perhaps plot evil against our children.’"

Malcolm was floating over the Nile. He saw blue and white water lilies in the shallows next to the banks. He floated higher and saw the boats, higher still and he began to see the great river's course spread before him like a map. He was traveling south past the cataracts, past the Great Bend of the Nile, where once the now gone Yellow Nile had joined it. Malcolm could see the lost river. He drifted on to Khartoum, where the Blue Nile, with its massive flow, joined the White Nile. He followed the river south the desert gave way to green lands. He was over Lake Victoria now. Malcolm knew in his bones that Speke was wrong. This was not the source of the Nile. The great river flowed through the lake and did not originate from it. In the hills beyond were the springs which gave birth to the mighty Nile. He was almost there . . . he could almost see them . . .

Then it stopped. Malcolm's awareness was abruptly slammed into his body. He was aware of the ticking of a mantle clock, his ragged breathing, Mariam's eyes glowing in the dark . . .

He remembered Zanzibar and another Mariam, the first Mariam, whose eyes glowed golden in the darkened room. The smell of spices and the sea, the floral scent of her hair, the musky smell of their bodies and chanting in some ancient language. The voice belong to Mariam in London? No, was it the first Mariam? No, it was — Madame Kali. It was she, reciting in a sing-song voice: "Does he know about his far-born son, who is hidden, unseen, although the deed was done, and he has his father's eyes of agate green."

Sir Malcolm awoke hours later in an empty room. There was only the ticking of a clock and a sleek black cat preening near the window.


	8. Chapter 8

The lioness paced across her cage to the agitation of her cubs. The woman had not moved from her position in front her cage for the better part of an hour. The lioness knew it was Sekhmet in the guise of woman, but how could any creature endure the scrutiny of a goddess. Especially this particular goddess. The lioness had been born at the London Zoo, yet a part of her remembered hot plains, the gathering of great herds of antelope and gazelle at waterholes, the chase, the feel of her jaws on a throat, the taste of fear and nourishment in her mouth. These were not her memories, but those of her kind.

The lioness stopped and looked directly into Sekhmet's eyes, the goddess returned the stare. The great cat saw not the elegantly dressed Victorian lady, but a lion-headed tawny skinned woman with a myriad of tiny braids, tipped in gold beads, hanging past her shoulders, and wearing an elaborately pleated red linen gown. The lioness began a low rumbling in her throat which the lion-headed entity returned.

Vanessa sat up straighter in her chair no longer interested in the letter she was writing. She saw herself at the London Zoological Gardens. She was walking along the paths on Sir Malcolm's arm. They were coming upon the lion cages. Vanessa heard herself say, "What an extraordinary looking woman. She's very exotic."

Sir Malcolm regarded the young woman, there was something very familiar about her. Mariam, no, it couldn't be. That was over twenty years ago. No, very similar to Mariam, but not the same. He replied, "She looks possibly Egyptian despite the Paris fashion."

"I didn't know you followed ladies' fashions."

"I'm fascinated by many aspects of the fair sex, Vanessa. She is a very exotic beauty, but not surprising to see her here, London is a cosmopolitan city."

Vanessa and Sir Malcolm joined the young woman in front of the lion cage. Sekhmet broke her gaze at the lioness. The cat continued to growl softly deep in her throat; her cubs gathered around her paws.

Sekhet nodded prettily, lifted her chin to release a dazzling smile at Sir Malcolm.

"She is a remarkable creature," said Vanessa, referring to the lioness. "Such power and grace. Yet, so gentle with her cubs."

"Yes, she can be, but she can be firm with them, as well," Sekhmet replied. "Being a good parent requires one corrects as well as nurtures." Her voice was exceptionally cultured, beautiful modulated, and utterly English.

"The lioness seems to have quite the affinity for you." Sir Malcolm returned Sekhmet's smile.

Vanessa broke in, "Do you think the lion's are bothered by the cool, dampness of London.? Does something in them miss the heat of Africa?"

Sekhmet regarded her and said. "Perhaps, but not all lions are African. There are lions in India. Xerxes is said to have found lions when he advanced across Macedonia. Lions were said to have lived all around the Mediterranean, even into Spain. Some say that across many millennia in the past native lions walked in Britain. Perhaps that is nothing but fancy. Still, it is said lions have been in London, at the Tower of London, since 1210."

"Dear lady, you are a student of history and zoology . . . Malcolm's voice faded in Vanessa's hearing, the rumble of the lioness grew inside her head, Sekhmet's voice chanting in Egyptian.

Vanessa was looking down on Malcolm, the Egyptian lady, the lions, and herself. She saw herself fainting into Malcolm's arms. She was floating, floating above the zoo, above London.

She saw herself in Sir Malcolm's townhouse. She was walking into the hallway, moving past the top of the staircase. Vanessa saw herself falling, tumbling toward the stairs. She noticed Sembene catching her and caring her like a doll. He was calling for Malcolm.

Vanessa was following a cat through dimly lit, brightly painted tunnels. The cat was a curious looking creature. It was small and black with a gold hooped earring in each ear and two, or perhaps three, golden rings on its tail. She thought it also wore a necklace. The cat continued to lead her through a series of tunnels.

Vanessa saw herself lying in bed. She saw the fading light of dusk filtered through the lace curtains. The room was dimly lit and Malcolm was sitting by her bed reading. He leaned toward her to brush his hand along her hair where it spread across the pillows and whispered, "Vanessa?"

Her eyes fluttered and opened tentatively. She breathed, "Sekhmet awaits."

It was impossible for her to read Malcolm's shadowed eyes, but he sounded concerned. "You've been hallucinating, Vanessa. You need to rest"

She lapsed back to unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

The cat's tail was lifted straight up with a slight curl at the end. The little animal disappeared into the shadows and left Vanessa alone in small brightly lit room filled with cabinets and a large table. She was deep in the warren of workrooms within the British Museum. Dr. Lyle and Mr. Khoury were in the room deeply involved with some artifacts on the work table. Vanessa noted that they couldn't see her.

Mr. Khoury's tapering, long fingers delicately used an assortment of fine picks and brushes to clean the fragments of tablets arranged on the table.

Dr. Lyle bent over the work to make notations and drawings in a notebook, before asking, "Have you found any indication that these goods indicate the mummy was the Divine Adoratrix of Amun?"

Mr. Khoury replied, "No, to the contrary, she appears to have been the chief priestess, God's Wife of Amun. It is strange though, Dr. Lyle. The mummy dates from the Tenth Dynasty when the position was held by non-royal women."

"Well, the lady in question was seems to have been a woman of the royal house. Which didn't become usual until the New Kingdom. A bit of a puzzle, eh, Khoury."

"Quite, sir."

"Have you made much progress on the papyri also found with the the grave goods?"

"Some, but not really extensively. Much of what I've presently translated concerns the Ogdoad, specifically Amun and . . ."

"Amunet. Is that correct, Khoury?"

"Well, yes. Amun and Amunet formed a quarter of the Ogdoad. They are referenced in a spell which reads: You Who protect the gods, and who guard the gods with your shadows."

"Hidden protection, Khoury, protected by the shadows of the gods. Both are considered the "Hidden" but Amunet is especially hidden after her consort ascends to national prominence after Amun becomes incorporated with Ra."

Mr. Khoury paused from his work. "It is fitting in that since Thebes led the revolt against the Hyksos their great local deity be incorporated with the major national god. But this burial was Old Kingdom and centuries before that."

"Yes, yes, quite right."

"It was not unknown among the Egyptians to associated the goddess Amunet with a mothering and protective nature."

"She may not be quite the motherly type with which we associate the term, Khoury. Are you still researching the subject that I requested?"

"Concerning the joining of Amun-Ra and Amunet. The closest I've found is something very late, Ptolemaic, or perhaps, even when Egypt was a Roman province. It may possibly be a forgery."

Dr. Lyle snapped, "Young man, what was it you saw written?"

"It concerned Amun-Ra and Amun-Nut," Mr. Khoury replied. "Ra as the sun, particularly the midday sun, and the goddess Nut, who is the vault of night, swallows Ra in the evening to give birth to the sun each dawn. If Amun-Ra, midday, and Amun-Nut, the dark of night were to co-exist . . ."

"The result would be annihilation."

"Perhaps, or it might simply be a solar eclipse."

"Such an optimistic young man. What will I do when you go off and abandon me, just so you can excavate in Egypt."

Mr. Khoury smiled. "I know very well that as an egyptologist you understand very well why I want to work on an actual Egyptian archaeological site. Besides, my Arabic is excellent; so I will be useful."

"My dear boy, you are eminently useful to me. Yet you're about to go off and leave me to the vagaries of vague assistants. And calling the vague is a kindness, there are worse and more accurate words for them."

"I shall miss working for you, Dr. Lyle. I've learned much."

"You are very apt pupil. Mind you, my wife is very piqued at the prospect of your going."

"She has always been very kind to me. I get the impression that Mrs. Lyle thinks of me as son."

"No, that's not at all the way she feels about you, Khoury. Although, she is quite fond of you."

"Your wife has always been kind to me, sir."

Vanessa felt a cat brushing against her. She heard a clear voice in her mind, "Look at Khoury, what do see?"

She noticed that his height, gestures, and profile were very familiar. His turned his head, leaving his face in shadow, excepting his eyes. The light fell across his green eyes. Vanessa looked down at the cat. The golden-green eyes glowed in the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a sunny morning spreading across London. The light filtered in through the lace curtains in Vanessa's room to make floral patterns against the wallpaper. Sir Malcolm dozed sitting upright next to Vanessa's bed. He awakened to the smell of coffee with cardamom. He remembered coffee was called kahawa in Swahili. It was redolent of memories of Africa. Sembene rarely made it; so Malcolm wondered why he had today.

Sembene was arranging the coffee tray on a small table. He poured two cups and offered one to Sir Malcolm. He then sat and sipped his coffee.

Sir Malcolm lifted an eyebrow and regarding Sembeme over the rim of his cup as he sipped. "Did you brew the kahawa for yourself and decide to offer me some, as well?"

"I need to speak with you about Miss Ives. We share much Malcolm. We share deep memories of Africa and Miss Ives is affected by old and great magic from Africa. Ancient and powerful, and possibly channeled by someone who does not grasp how great this magic is."

"You speak in riddles, but I know you Sembene, and I know you glimpse these things more than most men. I won't say you understand them because you, yourself, respect this magic too much to claim understanding."

"Is Vanessa lost, Sembene? Do you know?"

"I know she is on a journey, Malcolm; but I do not know it she will return, nor in what condition. I do not even know if it will be she who returns if she ever awakes."

"Vanessa cannot be lost, Sembene. I believe she will survive, She has survived much and she will return. She has the strength."

"Perhaps, but what of the other within her?" Sembene refilled Sir Malcolm's cup.

Malcolm closed his eyes and sipped his kahawa. The scent of cardamom and coffee enveloped him. He pondered how powerful smell could be to prompt memories. He remembered the sound and smell of the sea, the orange and jackfruit trees, clove trees with trunks covered in thorns, and vines bearing vanilla orchids and pods.

He remembered Zanzibar.

It was years ago, the Zanzibar dawn was gaudy, like violet fingers grasping from the horizon.  
Malcolm remembered the ring of a small bell echoing up the street, growing louder as a coffee vendor wended his way up the street, his voluminous white djellaba fluttering in the breeze off the sea. He carried a basket full of cups and conical metal pot. He heard the stirrings of his neighbors rushing to the front of their houses to purchase the day's first cup of kahawa. There were greetings of salutations. The morning gave the fresh promise of a good day.

Some days were better than others. It was still a good time in Sir Malcolm's life. It was a time when he felt most alive and the promise of his attaining his dream of finding the ultimate source of the Nile was almost palpable.

He had only recently attained a good price in purchasing supplies during a coffee ceremony. His host had underestimated Malcolm, thinking that the Englishman, although he was fluent in Arabic, had no understanding of Swahili. Malcolm bided his time listening carefully to the snatches of conversation in Swahili in which the other men occasionally engaged. No derisive remarks were made concerning him. His host was and observant Muslim and a guest would never be treated with dishonor in any way. Malcolm chose his moment well to reveal his facility with Swahili — and attained a very good value for his money indeed.

Vanessa stirred to the feeling of tropical warmth and the mixed smells of cloves, cardamom, and black pepper. Everything was underscored by the smell and sound of the sea. She was formless but flashed and floated through a stream of sensations. Only her senses existed, she a had no body, indeed, no form at all. She was in Sir Malcolm's memories.

She knew she was in Zanzibar, and she knew that off in England the child Vanessa toddled after her nanny. She was in the past — nebulous and floating in the sun.

She saw a room in which there were carefully packed scientific instruments and maps and a large bed draped in mosquito netting. Sir Malcolm was sleeping late into the morning. His expedition wouldn't be leaving until the next day so he was free to spend this one as he chose. A young woman had herself twined around him like a liana on a tree. Malcolm stirred and she stretched along him like a cat.

He kissed her nose and said, "Mariam, sometimes I think I can almost hear you purr. You are most definitely a woman but there is a hint of the feline about you."

"How is that Malcolm?"

"In the night, I swear, your eyes glow, beautiful glowing dark amber eyes."

"And only cats have amber eyes?" she teased.

"No, most people don't have eyes that glow in the dark."

"I'm Egyptian, we have a long history of being under the influence of cats."

Malcolm laughed, "I think you mean 'a long history of being influenced by cats."

"Perhaps, Malcolm. English sometimes confuses me."

"You very often mystify me; but I enjoy that in a woman."

Malcolm enjoyed a great deal about Mariam. She was of a type he preferred. She looked almost white, but there was that hint of duskiness which delighted him. She was exquisitely graceful, an armful of slender curves, and she was, he supposed, inscrutable was a word that could well describe her. Although it was a word rarely applied to women. As for Mariam, he found her an unusual woman.

She was dozing, like a cat, it amused Malcolm to think. The sun played across the mass of her crimped hair, picking out subtle hues of deep gold and red which reminded him of the shades found in a sandstone cliff. He buried his face in her gloriously unruly hair and inhaled the scents of orange and clove. She was fragrant like Zanzibar itself, she smelt of cinnamon, vanilla, and cardamom. She smelt of other earthly things. She smelt of sex.

Malcolm drifted into the edge of consciousness, poised on the edge of sleep, ready to embark on his expedition, on the threshold of a vast continent to carry his own darkness into what was called "the dark continent".

Vanessa felt herself slipping away, back through time, back into her body. She also heard a woman's voice, her own voice reciting:

"Are you afraid of the dark?"  
She asks wrapping her hair around his arm.  
Tropically scented, dangerously dark hair  
Constricting against fish-belly pale.  
She sucks out his breath, murmuring,  
"The mark of darkness is on me  
And now it's on you too."

Does he know about his far-born son?  
Who is very like him -  
Yet is hidden, unseen.  
Although the deed was done, -  
And he has his father's eyes of agate green.

Are there are those who remember the time  
Before the strange, northern people came  
Bringing their religion and refinements?  
They bring disease and degradation as well.  
Such a small price though for all which they offer.

Does he know about his far-born son?  
Who is very like him -  
Yet is hidden, unseen.  
The boy will be just like him -  
And he has his father's eyes of agate green.

"Don't be afraid of the dark,"  
She breathes into his ear.  
He should be. The mark of darkness is in him  
As it will never be in her.  
It's his own deep guilt festering  
In the darkness no one sees,  
Because he will not see it in himself.

Sir Malcolm's heard what Vanessa was saying in a sing-song voice . He had been lost in memory but she had startled him back to the present. His porcelain coffee cup fell and shattered.

Sembene bent to collect the shards into a napkin.


	11. Chapter 11

Vanessa felt a hot breeze blowing through gauzy curtains. She was in an elaborately painted chamber open on one side with lotus topped columns and diaphanous draperies filtering the view of a river beyond. The sun was bright and hot, but the chamber was airy. Vanessa was not alone. A lioness reclined on a chair of exquisite workmanship; her gaze was steady and the tip of her tail twitched occasionally.

Vanessa asked, "Why have you brought me here?"

A woman now sat in the chair. She had tawny skin, deep amber eyes, and her hair was dressed in tiny braids tipped in gold beads. Sekhmet wore a simple red linen dress, a beautifully worked broad, golden collar of a necklace and a headdress consisting of a gold sun disk and uraeus.

"Will you not answer me Sekhmet?" Vanessa continued, "Yes, I know that you who you are, and that you are a destroyer . . ."

"And a healer," Sekhmet interrupted. "I, too, know you, Miss Ives — as well as the other who shares a vessel of flesh with you."

"Then by all means tell me all about myself . . . and my "companion," Vanessa mocked.

Sekhmet purred, "Is not pride the sin for which the angels fell? Silence? Won't the other within you speak? Shall I continue to speak of an enormous red dragon…His tail swept a third of the stars out of the sky and flung them to the earth…the great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him."

"Shall I speak of Sekhmet, the Eye of Ra who was so crazed in bloodlust that she, the lioness, set on the destruction of "the cattle of Ra", as humans were known. You butchered "Ra's cattle", those people, and drank their blood. Ra was horrified and realized that if he left you own devices there would be no people left on earth. He caused the Nile to run with beer stained red with pomegranate juice. You thought it was blood and drank yourself to insensibility."

"Yes, I awoke with a headache and was much calmer. I restored Ma'at, which is why Ra sent me against humanity."

"You went too far!"

"Silence!"

Vanessa staggered back as a blast of hot wind funneled against her.

"I will tell you what I found in London," Sekhmet continued. "You will not be the mother of evil although you sit within a web of those who foolishly wishes such a thing.

There is the disgrace of doctor, a perversion of a healer, who would sunder the barrier between life and death. An affront to Ma'at. He would seek to create a polluted parentage for foul line of creatures who have no place in existence. It will not endure, Ma'at will be corrected.

Then the silly, but dangerous, sorceress, Evelyn Poole. The vain, useless woman who loves her beauty above all else. She who summoned me — and presumed she might control me."

"Tell me," Vanessa gasped, "how will mighty Sekhmet slake her blood thirst?" her tone was meant to be mocking but was merely a croak.

"It is not yet time for correction of Ma'at. But it will come and it will be a horror the like of which the cattle of Ra have never beheld. I will give them a war so vast and deadly the will swear it would end all wars. Foolish cattle, it will only be the beginning. I will also bring them pestilence, the like of which, they have not seen centuries. I will slake my blood thirst, humanity sets that feast for me. It is not yet my time."

Sekhmet preened and continued, "The other within you remains quiescent because she, too, loves Ma'at. You will serve me, though. Your journey is not over."

"Answer me one question before I go. Who is Anthony Khoury?"

"Why Miss Ives, you've met him. He is what he seems, a clever young man who dreams of uncovering ancient Egyptian secrets, and aspires to be a proper Englishman. Who do you think him to be? The child Sir Malcolm deserves."

"You answer your own question, Sekhmet."

Vanessa felt a large paw clawing down her arm. She watched the welts rise on her skin.

Sekhmet rumbled, "Take your leave. We will not meet again."

Vanessa tossed on her bed in a fever. Sir Malcolm saw the welts appear on her skin. "That's a wound made by a lion!"

"It is ancient magic, Malcolm, as I told you." Sembene said.

"Can you do anything to help her?"

"No, she must find her her way."

"Or what, Sembene?"

"Or she will die," he replied.


	12. Chapter 12

Evelyn Poole listened for the sound of her maid closing the door. She regarded herself in her dressing table mirror. She needed rest, her face was beginning to show the strain of the spell faltering. Mrs. Poole left the spell lapse and examined the ruined half her face. A scar clawed its way from brow to chin, over her eye and mouth, an angry track of four parallel welts.

It was the mark of a cat.

________________________________________________________________________

 

Vanessa found herself at the base of the stairway in Mrs. Poole's house. She noticed Mr. Khoury sitting next to a potted palm studying her. He bowed his head slightly and said, "Miss Ives."

"Might you be able to tell me why I'm in Mrs. Poole's house."

"It gets more complicated than that. Firstly, ask yourself how you know this is Evelyn Poole's home."

"I haven't any clue I how know," replied Vanessa.

"You know because you are not in her house; you are in Mrs. Poole's dream."

"And yourself, Mr. Khoury. Are you in her dream, as well?"

"No, I am in your dream — or awareness, if you will. As I said, it is complicated."

"Why are you in my "dream" if I may ask?"

"I'm here because you have an affinity for the men of my family."

Vanessa asked, "What do you mean?" She found Mr. Khoury gone.

"To whom are you speaking, Miss Ives? How rude of you to call upon me unannounced — and to enter my home of your own volition." Mrs. Poole spoke from the top of the stairs. "Aren't you afraid to be here. You should be. Are you here to "beard the lion in its den?"

"That is an unfortunate turn of phrase." Vanessa mounted the staircase and drew herself to stand with Mrs. Poole. "Sekhmet is gone. She has no interest in you, or your plans. Why should the corrector of Ma'at be concerned with someone — something — like you?"

Vanessa began rising off the floor and floating above the staircase. She built up velocity and felt herself slammed against the floor at the base of the stairs. She gasped at the surprise and the pain of it.

"Ah, poor Miss Ives," mocked Mrs. Poole. "As pretty an angel, a dark angel. It seems that like other "dark angels" you're destined to fall. Are you acquainted with any dark angels, Miss Ives?'

Vanessa felt her internal organs constricting, as if innumerable tiny threads were being drawn about them. She passed through the pain and floated above the scene, She saw herself lying at the base of the stairs and Evelyn Poole with her foot pressed on her chest. A burst of light exploded out Vanessa knocking Mrs. Poole back to lie prone on the stairs.

Stairs. So may stairs.

Vanessa was on a suspended staircase, there were a myriad of staircases. They intersected at all angles, some spiraled, some curved, some were painfully straight. Distances blurred and doubled back on themselves. The roof? The Sky? She looked up at black and white tiled floor, or was it a chessboard. Clouds drifted by, she looked down, and could only see fog. As she ascended the stairway she had the sensation of constantly falling. Vanessa climbed on towards the cloud shrouded chessboard.

Below she heard pounding footfalls and Mrs. Poole gasping, "We will meet in a domain I know well."

At the top of the stairway, Vanessa stepped into a void — and found herself in a round chamber that was walled completely in windows. Windows that revealed anything that dwelt her dreams. She wondered if the windows were specific to the dreams, perhaps fears? of whomever gazed into them.

"Miss Ives," Evelyn Poole spoke to her from one of the windows. She tried to enter into the room but could not. She pressed her hands against the window."

"I thought you said we'd meet in your domain?" Vanessa mocked. "Don't frown Madame Kali. It will put lines in your face — and we both know how much you treasure your beauty. Did you know that in ancient Egypt, women considered that the ideal of beauty was that of a cat. Did Dr. Lyle mention that to you? Their make not only protected their eyes from glare but the kohl outline gave a them a mysterious look. The look of a cat."

Mrs. Poole tumbled onto the floor of the chamber and quickly rose to confront Vanessa.

"This is still not your domain, Mrs. Poole, if that is your name. Just how old are you, and what were you originally called."

"That's not important, Miss Ives."

"How old are you. Just how far back can you remember."

"I can remember much. I have seen empires rise and fall, always filled with the like of silly, preening, vainglorious men like Sir Malcolm. Men of empire are quite laughable."

"Mrs. Poole, do you remember Seti I who ordered carved an assertion of his divine origin at Speos Artemidos. The inscription acclaimed that Seti was the egg of Ra, whom Pakhet has given birth to, whom the One Great in Magic has made come into being . . ."

Evelyn Poole interrupted, "Wrong. It was Hatshepsut who ordered that carved to announce her divine origin. Seti was a preening general, nothing more."

Vanessa noticed a desert landscape in one of the windows. It was a wadi, a boundary of desert and the last vestige of water. The sky was violet with a lacework of stars. Mr. Khoury was leading a caracal on a leash. The cat wore a golden solar disk between her elegantly plumed ears.

"Pakhet, night huntress with sharp eye and claw," Mr. Khoury spoke. "Goddess of the Mouth of the Wadi." He bent down an released her lead. The caracal leapt through the window in a rush of wind and rain."

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The rain traced a delta down the window panes. Sembene searched through his assortment of powders and herbs. He knew that when Miss Ives returned - if she returned - she would need to drink a certain potion. He'd never made this mixture before, but Sembene knew the ingredients and their measures. It was old knowledge that had been passed through generations.

He heard movement near the doorway. He knew it was Sir Malcolm. Sembene called, "Come in, Malcolm. I'm making a tisane for Miss Ives. Have you looked in on her. I have a feeling she may be waking soon."

"Sembene, I know full well what you are preparing is in no way a tisane."

"It can be compared to concoctions made by many old country mothers made across Britain."

"Are you alluding to witchcraft, Sembene."

"I allude to healing. Miss Ives has traveled far and will need this to adjust to being back here. Do you not trust me, Malcolm."

"You know the answer to that. Your gift is to see the truth."

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The rain laden wind knocked Vanessa to the floor. She looked up to see the vaulting, multi paned roof, like a conservatory. Were she and Evelyn Poole the wretched blooms that blighted this greenhouse. Looking through the glass roof, Vanessa couldn't discern the time of day. The sun and the moon raced in quick succession across the sky.

Mrs. Poole's mouth was moving in an inaudible spell, her hands wove patterns in the air. It did her no good. The caracal paced around her and launched herself through the magical boundary. One paw clawed its way down Mrs. Poole's face. Vanessa heard a shrill scream shattering the the glass dome as the glittering fragments rained down like tiny hail stones.

Pakhet was now a woman. A uraeus and sun disk crowned her intricate braids and her skin was dark against her elaborately pleated, brilliantly white dress. She smiled at Vanessa and disappeared into a luminous ball of light that rose into the sky.

She awoke disoriented, feral; Vanessa scrambled up to grasp desperately at the headboard of the bed. Her guttural mutterings alerted Sembene to grasp her head and force his potion into her mouth. He held her as still as possible for several moments, insuring that Vanessa swallowed the mixture.

Sir Malcolm, who'd been napping sitting in a chair, was startled awake; his refined, handsome face not quite registering comprehension at what had transpired. He inquired, "Vanessa?"

"Sembene , you are almost as formidable as my nanny was," Vanessa sputtered. "That was absolutely wretched. What was that thing you forced me to drink?"

"A tisane, to help you."

"That was no tisane, Sempene," she retorted. "That was more like some sort of witches' brew."

"I'd mentioned that to him," Sir Malcolm commented.

Sembene stated, "It has worked well, and Miss Ives is returned to us. That is the important thing."

Vanessa sat up and pulled kneess up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you think I might have some l'essence de boeuf?"

"Sembene, see that Miss Ives gets some beef tea," Sir Malcolm replied.

"Beef tea, sometimes you can be so prosaic," Vanessa said. She regarded sunlight warming the counterpane, and thought to herself how delicious it was to luxuriate in the sunlight like a cat. Curious that she should think of that.

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The small black cat rubbed against Ferdinand Lyle's ankles, making sure to thoroughly mark him as belonging to her. She marked him using the scent glands on the sides of her head, her paws, and her tail. Dr. Lyle picked up the little animal and gently stroked her above her eyes, just where the scarab would be on a statue of the goddess Ba'ast. His own cat, named Baast, purred happily an clasped his arm with both her front paws. She carefully kept her claws sheathed.

He smiled and said, "You are my very own special dear. You are such a good cat and because you are my darling Baast, I've had Cook fillet and chop up a lovely fish for you and also pour you a dish of fresh cream. Would you like that?"

Baast meowed her approval.

Dr. Lyle let her jump down and run toward her meal. She nibbled her way through her fish and delicately lapped up the cream.

Later, as she sat on a broad window sill cleaning her whiskers she gazed at the setting sun. The blazing orb was reflected in her gold-green eyes.

Yes, she would watch over Ma'at, because Baast, too, was the Eye of Ra.


End file.
